


When Falling, Fly

by Footloose



Series: May the Fourth [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Angsty Schmoop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 20:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: The Republic tears Arthur apart, the Sith captures Merlin, and they both crumble without the other.





	When Falling, Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Happy May the Fourth!

Arthur wasn't certain when he lost Merlin. 

Leon haltingly suggested that it might have been when Arthur was forced to entertain the Republic's most influential leaders, spending all his time to flatter and reassure them that the war against the Empire, while at a standstill, could still be won. Arthur had had no time for Merlin, much to his dismay, though he didn't immediately notice. He'd become too embroiled in politics, drawn into impossible dramatics, and on more than one occasion, Arthur had simply forgotten to come home.

When one was raised to believe that they made no mistakes, Arthur had a very hard time swallowing the responsibility for his neglect. Instead, he preferred to believe that the Jedi Council was at fault. They were the ones who pulled Merlin from his assignment as Arthur's guard, sending him across the galaxy in pursuit of the Sith Lords without so much as advance warning. Merlin was gone before Arthur had realized.

The Gods damn them.

Arthur had returned to his building late one night, too tired to see that he was alone in bed. And when he woke, the other side of the bed was empty, the blankets smooth as if Merlin had never been there. He did that, sometimes, when there was a chance that they might be disturbed by someone who could not be trusted with the secret of their relationship.

There was no excuse for how long it had taken before Arthur came to the conclusion that Merlin was gone. Or for checking his messages and finding Merlin's note buried deep in a flood of notifications from the Republic. When the message came in that Merlin was…

That he was…

_Lost_

Like he was a misplaced communicator or a blaster or… or… or a bloody _ship_ \--

Arthur stumbled and fell in front of his Gods and everyone.

When Arthur revived from his collapse, it was to the concern of the Captain of his guard, who fretted about his King's well-being, and to eleven thousand different messages from the members of the Republic, all of whom expressed fleeting interest in his health. Mostly, though, the Senators took the opportunity to vent their outrage over missed appointments and his lack of support when their planetary issues came to a vote.

"I'm a warrior, not a fucking politician," Arthur roared, immediately ordering his men to pull out of Coruscant.

Months passed with no word from the Jedi Council. Everyone was searching, but they were unable to find Merlin. It had been so long since Arthur…

Since Arthur had promised to take Merlin home to Camelot, where they would marry under the only authorities who mattered -- the stars, the Gods, and themselves.

And now…

Here they were.

As far as Arthur knew, the planet didn't have a name. It wasn't marked on the star systems because it was outside the charter of known space. Invisible even to the Empire, it was a paradise that was obviously a staging point for some new attack on the Republic.

"I could give a fuck," Arthur said. That wasn't why they were there.

His men were scattered across the beach, engaged in combat against the Imperial Troopers. The troopers weren't doing very well, but here, on this planet, they had the advantage of numbers. Arthur's plan had been to move in quickly, to retrieve the records that supposedly contained ship routes and other information for the time period in the portion of the galaxy where Merlin had gone missing. It was a sound plan, except…

He hadn't accounted for Darth Mordred.

Mordred had emerged from the beachfront bunker to block Arthur's way, robes flowing in the wind. Mordred's hair had grown out since the last time they'd met, but the scar across his head was still visible. His crooked smile was manic, his eyes were rimmed red, and his face was streaked where some sort of taint had spread through his veins.

"I really couldn't," Arthur assured Mordred. 

"But your precious Republic will burn," Mordred said, teeth white and shark-sharpened -- a new feature since their last encounter, Arthur noted. Mordred's sabers buzzed faintly as they danced through the air in what Arthur supposed was a menacing pattern, but didn't quite meet _terrifying_ , somehow.

"Let it burn," Arthur said, the sentiment heartfelt.

The Republic had lured him from Camelot using the greatest love of his life as bait. They'd used him to strategize their army's movements, to present their case to the Senators, and to rouse public support for the war against the Empire. They put him in positions he didn't want to be in, placed him on display as a war hero, and they'd pulled his strings all along.

"Let it burn," Arthur said. He wished the circumstances were better, or he would have enjoyed the gobsmacked look on Mordred's face. Clearly, the Sith Lord wasn't accustomed to having the thunder stolen out from under him.

"I… sorry?" Mordred frowned, confused.

"I'm done with them," Arthur said, as matter-of-factly as he could. He didn't hide how his finger remained on the trigger of his gun, however, and from the way Mordred's glance flickered down to his hand, he'd noticed. "They've cost me the one thing I swore I would never lose. They can burn. I won't stand in your way."

Something moved inside the bunker, but Arthur kept his attention on Mordred.

"You… You won't?" Mordred blinked. It made his eyes seem all the more red, all the more lost. "Then, why… why are you here?"

"Merlin's ship was lost eleven standard months ago," Arthur said wearily. A weapons blast went off too close to them, and while neither he nor Mordred reacted, the figure inside the bunker took the opportunity to approach. "He was on a mission to recover young padawan kidnapped by the Empire who intended to train them by the Sith. It was somewhere in the Mira cluster, in undeclared territory."

Mordred seemed to have found his footing, because he sneered, "Children take too long to train. I prefer to turn Jedi. I was not involved in that little project."

"Maybe not," Arthur said, doing his best to ignore it when the figure in the bunker finally came into the light. "But I have it on good authority that a record of Imperial ship movements could be located here. I'd hoped to track down the ones who might have crossed Merlin's route. I don't suppose you'd be willing to part with your database? Because then, you could go on and do whatever it is that you do when you're not staring menacingly in the mirror, practicing your mean faces. I'd call my men back, and we'd leave."

"Without your prize?" Mordred asking, his smile sharp. He gestured behind him with his lightsaber.

Arthur's heart stopped.

He'd ignored the figure from the bunker because he was afraid of who it might be. But even now, merely from watching the way the person moved, Arthur knew who it was. He'd recognize that strut anywhere, even with the stutter of a new limp.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave. As amusing as you are, my little king, you invaded my territory and are attempting to steal from the Empire," Mordred said, smug. "I don't care for your reasons or whose side you're on. Such an insult cannot be allowed to stand."

He turned to the figure behind him.

"Kill him, Emrys."

Arthur braced himself. There was a pause -- a clear hesitation. That was enough for Arthur. A hint that Merlin was still in there, no matter what Mordred had done to him. The Sith had tricks to unmake a man, to force a Jedi to break his vows, but Merlin had broken them willingly, and for _Arthur_ , long before Mordred had come along. And yet, no matter how much Arthur could wish for Merlin to snap out of this bloody daze, Mordred had had him for months, and breaking that control would not be easy. 

A lightsaber swept out from beneath Merlin's cloak, and a sickly red light buzzed from his hand. There would be no fairy tale ending to this particular stand-off, Arthur knew, but he had to try.

Merlin -- _Emrys_ \-- was cloaked head to toe in black, and the robe was thick enough that there was no telling if there were more changes to his person than the limp and the colour of his lightsaber. There was a stillness to Merlin that had never existed before. Even when Merlin had stood guard, he'd always twitched, shifted, _moved_ \-- never quiet, never calm, and it was unnerving to see him like this.

Arthur wasn't certain when he had lost Merlin, but he wasn't going to lose him now. Or ever again.

Merlin advanced. His boot sank into the soft sand. Somehow, that single movement was far more quailing than the battle raging all around them.

"Do you know me, Merlin? Do you remember who I am?" Arthur asked. His grip on the blaster tightened, but it felt like it was slipping out of his fingers, just like everything else.

Merlin didn't answer. Another step.

"It's me. It's _Arthur_."

Nothing.

"Do you remember the promise I made to you? That I'd never leave you? That I'd always love you? Because I do. I love you --"

Mordred snorted. Merlin's approach was brutally slow, like a cat stalking its prey. Arthur fucking hated being prey.

"I swore I'd never let you go. That I'd bring you back. Because I'm going to do that. Today. Here. Right now. All you have to do is to say my name. And we'll go home," Arthur said. He hated how his voice broke on the last word, but Merlin's step faltered.

He caught himself from the slip so quickly that Arthur had almost missed the faint gesture hidden beneath his cloak. Merlin's fingers had stretched out, curling as they would when he traced them along Arthur's hand when he thought Arthur was asleep.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, his voice catching. "Please, Merlin --"

"This is boring," Mordred said. "Hurry up, Emrys. We have better things to do than waste our time with royalty from a backwater world who believes the universe should kneel at his feet."

Merlin stopped. He turned his head to the side.

The hood was so heavy over his head that Arthur couldn't see his eyes, but the shadows did nothing to hide the hollow of Merlin's cheeks, the gauntness of his features, or the unhappy downturn of his mouth. It was the very same weight that tugged at Merlin's lips when he heard something that wasn't right, and meant that he needed a moment to think about it.

It absolutely killed him not to speak, but Arthur found it in him to stay silent. Nattering at Merlin never helped, before; if anything, it pushed him into a temper that was a far cry from the serenity Jedi required to master their art. Arthur had learned to leave Merlin alone when he was in this sort of mood.

But Mordred had not.

"He's nobody," Mordred said, with the heavy sigh of someone who was quite put-out that nothing was going the way he wanted, but willing enough to tolerate the diversion as long as they hurried along to the expected outcome. "Kill him."

Merlin advanced. The lightsaber rose.

Arthur fought himself with everything that he had. He stayed where he stood. He kept his blaster pointed to the ground. He kept silent, because it would not do for a King to beg and plead.

A barrage of blaster fire kicked up the sand around them. A fresh wave of Stormtroopers rushed out from a landing craft and moved their way, splitting into two platoons. One headed for the beach and Arthur's men; the other went straight for them. Mordred's mouth was a speculative curl, as if he wondered which would happen first: whether the King of Camelot would be captured by the Empire, or killed by his former Jedi bodyguard. Merlin hadn't halted his forward stalk, but something had changed --

His hand trembled. His lightsaber wavered.

The weapon fire came closer; a laser blast struck too close on his left. Arthur clenched his jaw to keep from reacting, but froze in place regardless when he saw that Merlin had come near enough for Arthur to see his eyes.

No shadow could make those blue eyes turn black. But black they were, and Merlin had fallen.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, lost, broken, and --

The feeling of his heart shattering into a thousand pieces hurt far worse than the enemy laser fire that burned through his chest.

Arthur fell to his knees, unable to even scream. His blood had gone cold and he couldn't feel his limbs. Merlin stopped, eyes wide, mouth parted, lightsaber dropping from its intended strike.

Arthur saw dark eyes turn gold.

Arthur heard his name.

Arthur collapsed, enveloped in comfort and warmth and safety. He fell unconscious just as the world began to burn.

* * *

When it rained on Camelot, it rained stars. Fine droplets drizzled rather than fell, cascading like a fog. Sometimes, Arthur thought it looked like a blanket of light sheeting from the universe. Other times, like now, the rain was a pulsing waterfall reflecting distant starlight to the rhythm of a beating heart.

If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he thought he could hear the pattern of the rain on the rooftops, on the ground. Not today. Today, like every day since his men retreated from the paradise-planet in the Outer Reaches, Arthur could only hear the sound of his own heart.

The medical units on board their ship could do nothing for him, because there had been nothing to be done. The Royal Physician had examined Arthur multiple times, but there were no signs that he had ever been shot, or that he had died. His body was whole; and Arthur should pay homage to all the Gods and Goddesses who had looked over him during his very trying time.

His body was whole, but his heart, not so much, and in the quiet and solitude of his self-imposed "recovery", Arthur cursed all the Gods and Goddesses who hadn't looked after Merlin, too.

"Your Majesty?" George asked, fretful. He held up a heavy russet cloak lined with pale _bonyan_ fur. It might be early Spring, with snow still lingering on the grounds, resisting the rain's latest attempt to wash it away, but it was hardy cold enough for Arthur's warmest winter cloak. "You'll catch a chill. Please don't catch a chill."

"The cold air is bracing," Arthur said. What he didn't say was, he'd been numb since waking up to find himself aboard the ship, and that the Knights hadn't been inclined to look for Merlin before they'd left. It wasn't that they hadn't tried. It was that they hadn't been able to.

"I'm certain Your Majesty has been through sufficiently _bracing_ events in his lifetime. Please, Your Majesty, let's not add pneumonia to the list," George said tartly, and it sounded so much like something Merlin would say that Arthur wanted to cry.

It was unbecoming for a King to cry. It was lucky that Arthur was too drained for tears.

"Leave it on the chair." Arthur gestured dismissively, and turned away. He placed his hands on the balcony railing, and stared out into the distance without focusing on any of it. He told himself that the blur preventing him from seeing the village down below where he'd first met Merlin was all the fault of the rain.

 _"It was a mistake calling you friend_ ," Merlin had snorted, eyebrows raised, expression indignant. _"I'd never have a friend who was such an arse."_

Gods, they'd been so young, then. 

"Your Majesty?" George insisted, coming closer. He held out the cloak again.

"Honestly, George. How many times do I have to say it?" Arthur asked, his tone tempered by the sweetness of old memory. "On the chair. And leave me for a bit."

George didn't respond, though it was clear that he wanted to. He swallowed loud enough for his irritation to be heard without explicitly voicing it, arranged the cloak on the chair, and left with shuffling steps and concerned noises that Arthur ignored. When the distant door finally clicked shut, Arthur sank into the chair, elbows on his knees, and stared at his hands.

He stayed there until the rain gave way to clear skies and sunshine.

He stayed there for a long time.

* * *

_I found him_ , Gwaine said, the holographic transmission flickering in and out. _He's alive._ And, in the middle of revealing the coordinates, the signal flashed and went out.

* * *

The planet had had a name, after all. Reis Camlann. Amongst the alien civilizations of the Outer Reaches, Reis Camlann was the jewel of providence, a sanctuary that was later perverted by the Empire, who sought to mine its energy reserves for their latest mysterious-and-devastating weapon against the Republic.

But after… After the Knights of Camelot attempted to recover the data file on Imperial ship movement, only to encounter Darth Mordred instead, Reis Camlann was a wasteland.

The story, as Arthur learned it from multiple sources, and screened for inconsistencies, was that an unstable energy source reacted with the open energy core of Reis Camlann. The continental shelf might as well have exploded, for all the damage of the catalytic reaction. Glittering buildings had fallen, the pale blue seas had turned red with iron, and there remained only a few safe refuges on the suddenly tectonically active planet.

The races of the Outer Reaches set the blame squarely with the Empire. Something that they had been doing -- something that they had always done, usually involving a scientist tampering with immoral and unethical science -- had destroyed Reis Camlann. It couldn't have been anything else. Anything else was inconceivable.

The Knights had been lucky to have escaped the planet before it underwent the tides of destruction. The Imperial residents, of which there had been many, had been trapped by their own artificial shielding around the planet, and few had survived.

Merlin.

Merlin had done this, and no one would ever know. It was a relief to Arthur, because no one else would hunt Merlin down for his power nearly as hard as Arthur would search for Merlin for love.

Despite Gwaine's message, of Merlin, there was still no sign.

* * *

Before Arthur had become King, Albion was not a galaxy fortunate enough to be positioned along the main trade routes, and, therefore, few knew of the beauty of Camelot, of Avalon, or any of its moons and adjunct planets. Because of his presence in the Republic and ever since his return, the shipping ports had required expansion at least twice to handle the increasing exports and imports, and to better manage the immigrating expats and tourists.

New laws were passed to protect the domain. Albion would not be scavenged. A cap was set on exports, on immigrants. Despite hints from the rich and the powerful, Arthur had no interest in seeing Camelot become the new Coruscant.

There were those who cursed him for abandoning the Republic. Others who praised him for his foresight. More than once, Arthur had been approached by Senators of nearby planets and galaxies, all of whom sought an alliance with Albion, and all of whom left with the disgruntlement of having achieved only the most cursory of treaties. Even the Jedi reached out to Arthur, seeking his advice, but when he countered their requests with questions about Merlin, further communication was met with silence.

His Majesty Arthur Pendragon, High Lord of Camelot, Regnant of Avalon and King of all Albion, had only one, and one destiny. It was to preserve unity of the Seven Kingdoms, to protect it from invasion and evil, and to watch it thrive and grow.

Even if the destiny was to do it alone.

Arthur rapped his knuckle on the hard edge of his table, using the shock and pain to distract him from his sorrow. The Council had urged him to consider marriage. Their King had been to war too many times for them to neglect taking the opportunity Arthur's continued planetary stay afforded. No one wanted to see Albion without a clear heir; that was a throwback to the time when all the Kingdoms fought each other for the privilege, and that was not so long ago.

Still, he couldn't -- _wouldn't_ \-- imagine anyone at his side who wasn't Merlin, which meant his future was certainly meant to be one of solitude.

"Um. Your Ma… Arthur?"

Arthur's head snapped up from his thoughts, but it was a moment more before he registered the Captain of his Knights. Having seen Arthur weeping into his cups on more than one occasion had been the cure to Leon's preference for the royal title, but he still hesitated before using Arthur's name, even these days. The scold was on the tip of Arthur's tongue, and went no further, because he took in Leon's expression, and it was _elation_ and _excitement_ like nothing he'd seen before.

"What is it?"

"I got a call from the port authority," Leon said, clearly trying to blurt out something important but needing to get all of the information out, first. "There's a ship incoming --"

"As there often is," Arthur said, impatient. At Leon's frown, Arthur sighed in apology and gestured for him to continue.

"The ship's asking for permission to land. Doesn't have a logged flight plan, refuses to say where it's been or where it's going. The Captain claims that he works for you, that you'd vouch for him --" Arthur sat up straighter in his seat. "I verified the transponder codes. It's the _Raptor_." Arthur stood up abruptly, the chair falling on the ground. "I spoke to the ship's Captain directly, and --"

Leon couldn't get the words out fast enough. Arthur was already stalking out of his office and down the hall.

"And it's Gwaine, he doesn't have long-range radio, said the satellite got blown up in a skirmish, something about it being the third time, and then he had to go dark because the Republic was after him for some reason, then limped his way here --"

Leon caught up to him.

"I have a transport waiting for us to take us to the port," Leon said. Then, hurriedly, he grabbed Arthur's arm, slowing him to a stop. "Arthur -- you need to brace yourself. He told me to pass on a message. Made me promise to repeat it word for word."

"What is it?"

"He said, _Tell the Princess he can end his moody strop. I'm bringing him a present. I expect a bonus. A large one._ "

Arthur's chest swelled. Indescribable emotion overwhelmed him and made his vision blurry with tears. "Leon --"

Leon shook his head. "Gwaine's a bastard, but he wouldn't tease about… about. He wouldn't."

Arthur said nothing. He climbed into the transport without another word, and gestured at Leon to get in and drive.

He'd do it himself, but his hands were shaking too badly.

Arthur, ever grateful for the childhood friend who stayed with him through every trial and tribulation, was even more relieved by the quiet chatter about non-essential strategic updates around Albion's territory borders, because it kept him distracted enough for the transport to the port. It wasn't a long trip, but it was long enough, and by the time they hovered over the tarmac, the _Raptor_ had just arrived and was venting its engines. Leon landed as closely as was reasonable and safe, and Arthur was out of the vehicle as soon as they were close enough to the ground to jump out.

More so up close than it had been from the air, the _Raptor_ no longer appeared as it had once been. The entire aft hull had been replaced; one of the portside motors was burned out, and the blaster gun lookouts along the wings were frosted over from laser fire. Arthur almost didn't recognize the ship. It looked as if it had gone through Hell and back to get to Camelot.

Percival was the first to disembark, descending from the rear loading bay ramp with his usual loping gait, growling a low-toned greeting as he curled his hand around the rail, a large wrench raised to repair the uneven settle. Gwaine wasn't far behind him, bouncing down the ramp until it collapsed neatly on the ground. He trotted the rest of the way, intercepting Arthur before Arthur could climb inside and search the ship until he found what he was looking for.

 _Whom_ he was hoping for.

"Hello to you, too, Princess," Gwaine said without preamble, walking backwards with his hands held up, as if that would stop Arthur at all. "I just want you to know one thing."

"Put it on my tab," Arthur said. He wasn't stopping.

"Well, it's not that." Percival growled. Gwaine hastily amended, "Okay, yes, it's that. I'll put it on your tab. But you need to know something -- he's not how you remember him."

Arthur stopped, frozen by Gwaine's words. He'd been so afraid that Merlin was _dead_ that it never occurred to him that Merlin might be so injured that Arthur wouldn't know him.

But then his attention was drawn to the creak and bounce of the metal flooring of the ramp. The familiar cocksure strut was stilted, almost reticent, the limp that Arthur had last seen was no longer there, and --

Merlin was thinner. Pale. His cheeks were sunken in, there were shadows under his eyes, and there was a weight of tiredness in the way he carried himself. Though he wasn't as healthy as Arthur might have liked, Merlin was alive.

Merlin stopped halfway down, the breath stunned out of him when he looked up and caught sight of Arthur. He stared at Arthur, and Arthur stared back, unable to -- no. _Unwilling_ \-- to look away. It was Merlin who broke eye contact, then, to bow his head and to stare at his feet, his hand clutching at the strap of the bag hanging from one shoulder.

And that was when Arthur understood what Gwaine had meant.

Gone was the Jedi uniform. Merlin wore a ratty blue shirt that had seen better days, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A soft, red cloth was tied around his neck, a belt with extra holes cinched tightly around a too-narrow waist, trousers soiled with engine grease at the knees, and strappy leather boots that looked one loosened strap shy of falling apart.

His long hair was hacked short in wayward curls that stuck up on his head the way it had when he was younger, before he left Camelot to become Jedi.

Arthur released a held breath.

Gwaine was right. This wasn't the Merlin that Arthur remembered. This one was haunted, a little bit broken, and in every way that mattered, it was still _Merlin_.

"Well," Arthur said, hands on his hips. He swallowed hard, hoping for a steady voice and a stern glare. "Look who finally showed up."

Gwaine made a strangled sound, as if angry on Merlin's behalf. Leon, behind Arthur, choked back a snort. But Merlin -- his sweet, beloved, much-missed Merlin? He looked up through thick eyelashes, sly and hopeful all at once, and the smile he gave Arthur was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

If Arthur was trembling with joy when Merlin dropped his bag and walked into Arthur's arms, no one needed to know except the two of them.

* * *

"I chase sightings halfway across the galaxy, only to learn I've missed him by a few light-years because he's already gone the other way. By the time I get past a little sticky situation --"

Percival growled something under his breath.

"Yeah, it was just a little situation, you shut your gob," Gwaine said, elbowing Percival. "And anyway, by the time I sort everyone out and catch up on a whole string of useless leads that take me nowhere, this one's been on Ealdor for four months."

Arthur glanced sharply at Merlin, but Merlin only dragged his thick slab of bread across his stew, sopping up the gravy before taking a bite.

Ealdor was sacred ground for the Jedi, believed to be the first temple before it came to ruins. Only a few people lived there, most of whom were Force-null, and only a handful of which remembered the rich history of their planet. The Jedi had moved on, of course, over time. Their temple was transplanted to Tython several centuries ago, and there were several branches that had grown elsewhere since then, but Ealdor had always been the beginning and the end of a Jedi's pilgrimage.

"He wasn't alone, if you're wondering," Gwaine said, his voice softer, now, less braggart and more considerate for the person he was telling the story about, and for the person who had been heart-sick the entire time he'd been missing. "There were others like him. They made sure he was all right."

Arthur didn't know what _Others like him_ meant, and he was going to find out how _Not all right_ Merlin had been, but he'd ask questions later, when Merlin might be inclined to answer them. At the moment, Merlin was as silent as the grave, staring into his second bowl of stew as if he had never seen a nicer-looking stew before.

Every few minutes, though, he would look at Arthur, first with fear, then relief. That relief faded into a flicker of happiness, which vanished under a wash of guilt and sadness so intense, Arthur could almost feel it sinking into his skin.

"We stayed for a while, but he wouldn't say a word. We had to leave eventually -- a man's got to eat, you know -- but we kept coming back. Knocked me on my arse the first time he actually spoke and said, _Not yet_." Gwaine grinned, but it was a little watery. "I knew I could wear him down, and, here we are."

Watching Merlin breaking off another piece of bread, Arthur wondered if, maybe, Merlin had left too soon. He was awfully thin. Sleep must not have been something he'd cultivated, because he was clearly exhausted. And weak -- _weak_ in ways that Arthur had never thought to see Merlin, grasping at his spoon with clumsy fingers, or tugging at soft freshly-baked bread as if it were as hard as stone.

Time, Arthur decided. He had all the time in the world to ask his questions, if only Merlin would stay.

"And here you are," Arthur echoed, never taking his eyes from Merlin.

* * *

The first words Merlin said to Arthur, in the privacy of the temple where they were unlikely to be disturbed, for a change, were, "I've left the order."

Arthur stumbled and leaned against the wall. The surprise left him breathless and blinking.

The warm silence of the holy place returned within a few heartbeats, but those words had left the worshipful peace fragile and delicate.

 _I've left the Order_.

For all that they came with faint vestige of horror, there were no sweeter words to Arthur's ears. He knew what it meant to leave the Jedi: a Knight could only walk away if they left with nothing but that which they possessed when they had entered.

There was one thing that Merlin had held close to his heart this entire time. Merlin had whispered it in Arthur's ear often enough. It was the one thing he'd carried with him to the Jedi. It was what he'd carried with him when Gwaine brought him back to Camelot.

_"I love you," Merlin said, again and again. In whispers as they met in secret in the castle's grand corridors. In notes left in Arthur's bedchambers before Merlin was taken away. In encoded messages he should never have been able to send as a padawan under restriction. In sidelong glances when he'd returned, in teasing touches when no one was looking, as sweat dripped from his brow from between Arthur's thighs. "I love you. Once and always."_

But Arthur hadn't been certain, not until now.

Arthur closed his eyes, willing back the well of emotion that made it difficult to breathe.

The Jedi Knights who left the Order were neither Jedi nor Knights any longer. Their lightsabers were left behind. Their good-byes were made. And though there were murmurs of those who returned to the Jedi again, eventually, most had gone Sith, or vanished into obscurity. There was no dishonour in their departure, only a firm farewell.

There were rites involved. Oaths sworn. Oaths undone. It was very convoluted and complicated and the Council had sometimes intervened to prevent an individual from walking through the doors to never return, but ultimately, leaving the Order was shrouded in mystery and mystique.

It was really fucking stupid, is what it was. A former Knight did not lose their ability to use the Force. They didn't suddenly forget all their training. They would be able to rebuild a lightsaber, if that was what they wanted to do. But, without the Order, their oaths, and their faith, nothing was left to protect them from the Sith, and most who walked away from the Jedi, voluntarily or otherwise, eventually _fell_.

On the beach in Reis Camlann, Arthur had known a moment when Merlin had truly fallen. Only a moment. He had believed that he had failed Merlin, because he'd promised Merlin that he'd be safe from his greatest fear. In the end, when the pain had gotten to be too much and the world had fuzzed around the edges, when the planet had shaken under the might of love and grief greater than any hatred and anger that the Sith could ever rouse, right before Arthur had closed his eyes and _died_ , Arthur had known that he'd done his duty and kept his word.

"It's not what you think," Merlin said quietly, clearly misinterpreting Arthur's expression. Arthur was moving forward before he realized he'd made the decision to do so, and he stopped before Merlin, within arm's reach.

"You don't know what I'm thinking," Arthur said, hoarse.

No, Merlin hadn't left the Jedi because he had fallen to the Dark Side or because he feared that his hard climb to return to the Light would collapse underneath him at any time. He'd left because the Jedi was no longer enough to hold him there. It might never have been enough.

"But I need to hear it," Arthur said, swallowing hard. "I need to hear it, Merlin. I need to know for sure that I'm not wrong."

Merlin was both chastised and reluctant at once, but when he held out his hand, Arthur took it without hesitation. Merlin didn't speak again for the longest time, his head turned away to stare out onto the horizon of the large open window, as if gathering his thoughts or his courage, but he didn't look away form Arthur when he spoke again.

"Master Kilgharrah told me, a long time ago, that the Jedi are as they are because they give themselves wholly to their faith and that there is no room for anything else." Merlin's mouth became a flat line, and he furrowed his brow. "He told me I would not make a good Jedi. He never explained why. He said I'd figure it out, eventually."

"Cryptic old bastard," Arthur scoffed. His voice was rough, but only because his throat was dry.

Merlin's lips twitched into an almost-smile, but it vanished under layers of sadness. "It took me a long time to untangle my darkest emotions in the… the aftermath. I was an idiot."

 _You're not the only one_ , Arthur wanted to say, ignoring the long tendrils of guilt that threatened to suffocate him. He had an eternity in which he would try to heal the scars that had been left from his neglect while they were in the Republic, if only Merlin would… If only.

"Not arguing that," Arthur said instead, because Merlin had gone quiet, again, and he feared that Merlin would stay that way. A good, mocking prod usually got him going, and Arthur could only hope it would work this time.

"Prat." Merlin's smile was a little more genuine and permanent. Then, after a charged moment where Arthur was certain he'd forgotten to breathe, Merlin whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner. That I didn't learn my lesson faster. Arthur… _Arthur_. 

"I'm not a good Jedi in the same way that I could never be a good Sith Lord. I could never give myself to either side because the only thing that ever filled my heart was you."

Arthur inhaled slowly. He released the ache in his chest with his next breath, and stared at their clasped hands as if, somewhere in the image, he could find all the answers he was looking for. In truth, he had known all along, and he'd only ever been waiting for the right time.

"Well, there's only one thing for that, then," Arthur said, taking a step back. 

He ignored the anguished, shuttered pain in Merlin's eyes, and revelled in how they became alight with joy and hope when Arthur went to one knee.

"To Hell with all your oaths, past and present. Give yourself to me. I will take your oath and hold it close and it will be the only one that matters. Will you marry me?"

* * *

His Majesty Arthur Pendragon, High Lord of Camelot, Regnant of Avalon and King of all Albion, Commander of the Republic's Rebellion, Champion of the Outer Reaches, Protector of the Faith, and High Priest to a single Golden Knight, dragged Merlin out of the castle and into the wilderness in the bloody dead of night.

When they reached an ancient, sacred grove that had long been untouched by any but the druids who still tended this land, Arthur dismounted from his horse and walked to the very center, gesturing impatiently for Merlin to hurry up. "Get over here. Get on your knees."

Merlin rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes, patted his horse's neck absentmindedly, and said, "I could've sucked you off in bed if that was what you wanted. There was no need to come out here."

"Merlin," Arthur said gently.

"What," Merlin complained, leaning heavily against his mare.

"Look around."

Merlin snuffled unhappily, but he eventually did as he was told. Arthur catalogued every second, cherishing the gradual realization as it appeared on Merlin's face, memorizing the way the light brightened in his eyes and broadened his smile in a way Arthur hadn't seen in years.

The sacred grove wasn't far from the secret spot where they always had come together to be alone. In the break between the trees, the lake glittered like a river of jewels, reflecting the silvery glow of the full moon. Their old tent was there, too, freshly oiled against the weather, full of blankets and furs and pillows. It was stocked with two picnic baskets full of Merlin's favourites, and some of Arthur's, too.

Merlin tilted his head back to stare at the dark sky. At all the stars of Albion.

It was in that moment that Merlin was fey. Moonlight kissed his cheeks and made him ethereal. The wind tangled his hair and made him wild. His laugh was free and without restraint, as if he were flying.

In watching him, Arthur felt like he was flying, too.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, falling to his knees before Arthur, and that was the only oath he needed.

Well. That, and one other.

_You are the blood of my blood, the heart of my heart, the soul of my soul. I give of myself that you might be with me, and take what you give so that I may be with you, and I shall be yours as you shall be mine from now until the end of time.  
_


End file.
